


And So He Left

by ExploretheEcccentricities



Series: Or So They Thought [1]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22745431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploretheEcccentricities/pseuds/ExploretheEcccentricities
Summary: Memories are hard to let go of. Life on the other hand...
Relationships: Quirin & Varian (Disney)
Series: Or So They Thought [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639714
Comments: 48
Kudos: 188





	And So He Left

**Author's Note:**

> *WARNING: References to suicide/suicidal thoughts. Don't like, don't read.  
> This takes place after Rapunzel's Return but before the other episodes of season 3. It CAN be seen as canon divergence in some way. I took some liberties with grammar and canon because these are Varian's thoughts, and I intentionally made certain things vague for now, so a lot of it is up for interpretation. Basically, I'm pitching this off of the idea that Varian suffered a lot worse in prison before he joined the Saporians, and even that was on a dubious agreement. I don't know why, but this particular idea has stuck with me for some time even before season 3 began, and only intensified as I watched Varian be angsty and nearly fall to his death multiple times throughout the season. Which in turn inspired this piece of work. Lol.  
> Don't get me wrong, I like how they played out his redemption, and I loved his role in both Be Very Afraid and Cassandra's Revenge. This is just an exploration of the darker, more subtle parts of a character learning to come to terms with not only what he's done (which he has in the show), but what happened to him as a result. Prison time is a harrowing and scarring experience, and I just have a lot of ideas ;).  
> That being said...please know I love all the characters in this show and just want them to be happy. And I hope to show my love by hurting them and helping them navigate their angst with fulfilling story arcs lol. Also these are not my actual thoughts on Varian-he's just being mean to himself because he's hurting, and that's prone to making him think illogically. None of the following logic will ever be true for anyone, and Varian logic is not logic, it is angst. THIS DOES NOT ENCOURAGE SELF-HATRED OR SUICIDE.  
> If I'm happy with how this turns out, I might post another chapter or use this as one scene in a separate story I've been working on, which will most likely explain how he got here, and what happens next. If I lose motivation, however... ya'll are free to make up your own endings.  
> This is my first official fic, so no flames please!

Varian silently stared out of the window, his bare toes frozen from where they peeked on the edge of the sill, the frigid breeze bellowing through his tattered, thin clothing and cascading mercilessly about his steadfast figure. Paralyzed, his eyes fixated in a dazed stare at the pale patches of concrete glistening below him, the dark of the night blinding him from any perception of the horizon or the forest ahead. 

He had read that people’s lives flashed before their eyes before they died-most likely because memory is the last to leave, he reasoned. Memory was always the very last to leave, clinging relentlessly to his every chance to let go, dripping endlessly off of every idea he thought would help him move on. No, memory refused to ever leave, choosing to erode present experiences, evade time, and implant itself onto people around him like a virus with no satiable or containable end.

He knew it was impossible to forget. Even if he had somehow succeeded in making everyone else forget, he would never have been able to forgive himself. It was his punishment-this forever leaking awareness of what he had done, and everything that had led to it, and everything that had happened as a result of it. A punishment on top of the ones he was still reeling from.

That was the worst part. He could not discern if it was wrong to begin with. What had happened, down there-right then-he had deserved it, hadn’t he? By some extension of reason, in some way, he probably had, because that was why it had happened to him, hadn’t it? Surely, the things _they_ had done to him-were objectively wrong in nature, but they weren't so bad if he was bad, were they? He was hurt badly, but he deserved to hurt. 

It was a scar that would forever bleed no matter how many layers of gauze he applied, regardless of how tightly he wrapped it. A scar that insisted on being known yet never seen, and hindered him from moving without anxiety and regret pounding in his ears, without being able to turn to anyone.

How could he, when they never met his gaze?

When they whispered behind his back, tip-toed around his presence, eyes glittering with suspicion, distrust, contempt, and apprehension?

When he intimately knew every criminal in the dark depths underneath the princess’ room, no doubt hearing of his visits to the palace, and how he walked free despite partaking in the very things they-

Shit.

He shook his head. No, he did not want to think of those things before his eternal sleep-for it would make him restless, and that would defeat the whole purpose. No one wanted to understand. There was nothing to understand.

It was a scar that made him want to tear out every inch of his skin. He did not want to remember because that would make him think, and therefore feel, and to hell with it, he’s had quite enough feelings to last him a lifetime. Surely he could recall a few things from his life, so he did not have to think of them as life flew out of his body.

He inhaled shakily and feebly grasped the edge of the cornice, withholding his soft sobs as he recalled every memory he had to remember, his life flashing before his eyes as the unsettling reality of what he was about to do sunk in. He couldn’t breathe, hadn’t been able to for _oh so long_ , and what he was doing would not help him, he knew. But he didn’t _want_ help-he knew he didn’t deserve it.

Who could help him? What could possibly be done? The only way to rectify his mistakes was to offer himself, and if his presence made others remember the awful things he did to them, well, what had he to argue with that? Quite frankly, he couldn’t look at himself anymore, not without remembering, thinking of the _self-absorbed, disgusting, thisisallyourfaultyoustupidstupidchild_ …

He didn’t _want_ help, didn’t even want to think of turning to anyone after all that he had done, and all that had been done to him-awful things that would no doubt make them tut pityingly or turn their noses up at him even more than they now did. He couldn’t bear it any longer, couldn’t stand the excruciating agony that bereft his soul of any chance of happiness.

He didn't _want_ help. He wanted to forget, and if he had to leave to do so, then by Ruddiger's apples he would.

It wasn’t as though he was needed. All he did was make things worse. Ironically, the only times his plans had actually succeeded was when he had initially deteriorated into madness, trying to terrorize the capital, kidnap the queen, and endanger the lives of every one at the Battle of Old Corona.

Who would mourn for him? Certainly not Rapunzel, the royal family, or any of their cronies. And especially not his village.

Would his father?

Quirin hadn’t given him a second glance after he had been told about what had transpired while he was trapped in amber. The man’s expression had grown heavy with disappointment and a stern apprehension, his aged eyes crinkled in an intensely saddened stare that emanated disbelief and-pity?

To be honest, Varian had not had much time to study it thoroughly, for he was gently-GENTLY-pushed aside when the man stiffly regarded him for a moment and stormed out of the room.

Swallowing, Varian closed his eyes, allowing his mind to loosen, his heart to quicken, and his memories to unravel. What had happened after that was…something he would rather not think about. It was enough to solidify exactly what he had been trying to convince himself of otherwise for the past year.

He was a burden. A good-for-nothing, unredeemable burden that leeched off of his father’s and the kingdom’s undeserved kindnesses. He deserved to be locked up, he deserved to dwell in solitary confinement for the rest of his life so that Corona could sleep in peace knowing that this disaster child, _this traitorous menace_ , would never harm them again.

Inhaling sharply, he jolted from where he was. No, he could not afford to remember that, not right now. He did not want to think about it or feel about it or even think about feeling about it.

He spared one quick glance around the room. He really wished he had given Ruddiger a proper goodbye, as he would have been the only one to receive it.

_How I wish I didn’t have to leave._ That surprised him. Did he though? That was…why he was here, wasn’t he? Leaving was the one right thing that would not redeem all his wrongs, but it was the only right thing at the moment, because he did not want to remember, and if he left, he would not be able to do anything wrong again.

Leaving wasn't wrong. Honestly, was he really doing something wrong to himself if it would make things right for everyone else?

_I should have died_ , he kept thinking. _I should have been trapped in amber_. (He now knew that Rapunzel’s new incantation could melt it away, but he had a feeling it would have turned out very differently if he hadn’t initiated the particular chain of events prior to her leaving Corona in the first place). _I should have died in prison. I should have died when **they** looked at me. I should have been dropped by Andrew. I should have burned on that floating ship with the explosive Quirinian._

It was much easier to die than forget. It was less painful to let go of life than of what he had done with it.

In his favorite childhood novels, Varian had read that the villain always died. The villain always left his life behind because what good could that scum bring, even redeemed, even changed, after all the troubles they had caused, the messes they had made? It was much simpler for the villain to die-and now Varian was realizing precisely why no one villain stuck around to try and make up for his past wrongs. A life after that temporary death was nothing worth living or thriving for. After what he had experienced during and after his time in prison, death was a far more merciful route than justice or redemption.

Was it not right to end the wrong, and hadn’t he been wrong all this time?

Was he really leaving if he was heading to where he belonged?

What did it matter? He was leaving-he did not know where to, but he didn’t have to. For once in his life since his renunciation of villainy, he did not have to worry about the consequences of his actions, or where life would throw him as a result. If he did this well- _for once, Varian, please get this one thing right_ -he wouldn’t have to live it, so he would not remember it, and therefore never regret it.

Upon realizing this, he summoned another sharp inhale of finality and all the courage he had left to lever himself onto the very sill he had sat with his mother on those summer nights many years ago, before the magic and princesses and alchemy had turned his life inside out. Mother... he was going to see Mama. No, no, Mama was in heaven, and he did not deserve to go there. But he'd be nearer to Mama, wouldn't he? And, most importantly, farther from here?

He'd be closer to a place where he was understood and loved, which had to be better for him. So really, this _was_ helping him.

He was about to merely let himself slip off, not quite feeling the gall to jump anymore, ready to leave thought as quickly as he was about to leave life, when suddenly, the gentle opening of the lock on his door distracted him. Before he could react, the door opened just as carefully, before his father hesitantly treaded in, his head ducked, posture curled, feet shuffling as though he assumed his son was asleep and he would wake him up with the slightest noise.

And then, just as suddenly, his head lifted, and their eyes met.

Quirin’s eyes widened as they registered the scene before him, his jaw slackened and his body tensed, frozen in place, not quite ready to react. Varian had never seen his father so uncomposed, his countenance reflecting his morbid horror and shock. It was the most emotion he had ever seen Quirin express.

He conveniently forgot that it was because of him.

“Varian.” His father slowly yet distinctly spoke, his voice low, careful, coaxing, as though he was aware that so fragile he would break. Varian stared at him lifelessly, his expression haunted as he regarded his father, almost forgetting where he was standing. “What are you doing?” A soft, hoarse whisper, stifled with shock and weak with disbelief. It didn’t last long. “My God, Varian- What are you doing?!” The voice was powerful without anger, ringing clearly in Varian's ears above the harsh bellows of the spring breeze, charged with emotion and bone-harrowing trepidation, as though his father actually _cared_.

“I’m leaving.” He simply stated, now acknowledging his father moving closer with a sting of distress and only echoing what he had heard, what he had thought. What he remembered being told so readily mere hours ago.

His father blanched immediately, speechless beyond measure as he wavered in place-as though hearing him confirm what he saw electrocuted him. The tense silence was so thin and brittle that a pin drop could have shattered it. Quirin's breathing was heavy, weighed and careful. Varian observed him from his distance, never used to seeing him so engaged in anything that remotely involved him except if his life were in danger. _Well, that seemed ages ago._

“Varian-don’t move.” The command was not icy or irritated or a harsh reprimand; it was pleading, coaxing, as he stared back lifelessly. _No, Dad wasn’t supposed to find out until after it happened._ Broiling tears blurred his vision as he felt the weight of the situation crash down upon him in waves of anguish. “Please, son, just-" 

“I’m going to do it right this time.” Varian’s breath strained and shuddered unsteadily as he tried to speak in a hollow tone. “You all will be better off if I leave. You all-" His breath hitched involuntarily, and he was vaguely aware that he was rambling like a madman, upsetting his father further, whose eyes now glistened with tears of despair, distress, and..guilt? “I-I’ll l-leave..” His voice was merely a mewl now, broken by the force of his sobs as he tried to summon that small foolishness that could end it all. _I'm sorry,_ _Dad. Looks like you have only one more mess of mine to clean up…_

An awful noise escaped his father then-an animalistic, heart-wrenching cry of sheer horror, desperation, and agony rippling with his every move. Simultaneously, his father dared to inch forward, just by one accidental step, as though ready to run to him and Varian's anxiety piqued.

"NO, DAD!" He finally screamed for the first time since he had lost the battle, _lost himself_ , his boiling blood thundering haphazardly in his ears, throbbing in his bones, clamoring against his chest. "Don't you _dare_ come any closer. Please." The word weakly weaved its way into his voice, the turbulent cacophony of emotions easing away ever so slightly as his strong voice thinned into a solemn plea, his eyes maintaining the silent threat as his father stilled immediately with his hand clasped over his mouth, breath escaping with excruciating anticipation as he trembled uncontrollably in the vain hope that his son would see reason, climb down, talk to him more, stall, anything so that _this_ -this didn't have to happen. 

His hopes dashed as Varian clutched the edge of the open window with a refurbished determination, his back facing the outside, his front facing his father, and his frail figure practically hanging off the sill. His resolve wavered as his balance, the unforgiving nightly breeze whipping his messy overgrown locks in front of his eyes and obscuring the image of his father, poised to lunge at him no doubt.

Darn it, he had hoped to fall face forward! He couldn’t even kill himself correctly!

The dark impatience surged again, yanking him further towards the awaiting abyss as gravity longed to. It was infuriatingly simple-he just had to leave! Leave his suffering and disappointments and failures and why hasn't he even jumped yet-

Varian met his father’s tear-filled, petrified gaze with cold indifference, memorized every wrinkle of concern and desperate movement as Quirin finally did lunge, trying to reach him with his arm outstretched and mouth agape as though he was trying to yell his name.

All this time, Varian had thought he was doing the wrong things because he knew he was right. But for the first time, him doing the wrong thing would turn out right for everyone else. He would leave like he said he would, like they wanted him to.

He had nothing left to lose.

So he let go.

And so he left.

**Author's Note:**

> Dun-dun-DUN! Sorry if it was slow or didn't make sense-as I said, I may continue this in another story I've been working on or just post another chapter. It's more than likely I will update soon!  
> Someone please get this child a psychologist and a truckload of hugs.


End file.
